Gods and Gravity
by i-prefer-the-term-antihero
Summary: What's more fun than making Loki, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, and Shuri interact within the MCU? Forcing them to live together at the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls!


**Notes**

The following is a fic I spent pretty much the entirety of my 2018 summer working on writing, (and the next three months editing.) To this day (summer 2019) I am still trying to learn to write comedy, and this was one of my first attempts at comedy, as well as one of the longest fics I'd posted (on Ao3), and for those reasons alone it was a valuable learning experience for me. At the time I had a full plot for this planned out, and had every intention of making it into a long series. I still love this fic, I am proud of it, it makes me smile, I still have those ideas written down somewhere, and I hope to return to it someday.

However, the lack of comments I received on it, after six months of intense effort was very discouraging, and I lost momentum, and haven't worked on it since.

Knowing this, I couldn't keep my original note from Ao3, and I cannot make any promises that this fic will go anywhere. But, at the same time, I would still very very deeply appreciate your comments and encouragement, and would be much much more likely to continue this fic, even now, if I hear people are enjoying it. As I said, I love the idea, and would love to keep working on it, so please don't hesitate to let me know if you love it too!

* * *

_Are you aware of where you are? Oh, I don't mean to be rude. Welcome._

_You must be looking for some sort of introduction. Humans are so particular about things like that. You cannot cast your voice into the dark and expect to understand the echo. You're not a thing like me. _

_Afraid. Is that the word? You're afraid of that which you do not know. In the end, it's the only thing you're ever really afraid of. You can only speak to those who are no longer strange. I can't say I understand the feeling. Knowing is my job, is it not? _

_Of course, you wouldn't. It's not your occupation, after all. And the unknown, well…its not so strange as you may first think. Sometimes it speaks with your own face. _

_Me. That is the only name I need to know. I am, nevertheless, quite fond of human proclivity to naming things. I find it…what's the word? Cute? That must be it. I have no need of such titles myself though. Make something up for me, will you? Your imagination is far more powerful than anything I could tell you. I am quite curious to see what's in your mind. _

_You must want some introduction of your own. Would you like me to tell the others? Sing a song in your honor? No, I suppose that would be embarrassing. Quite affective in ancient society though, I must say. To be perfectly frank, I don't think it's a very good idea anyways. Not here. Not today. Not, yet, at least. _

_Mustn't proclaim your existence to those who know not of it, right? Might scare them off. Might not. They are quite resilient after all. Still…_

_Be not afraid. That's what they say, right? But would they be? Perhaps its too soon to tell. Perhaps it's always to soon to tell. Are you? Afraid, that is. No? I suppose there isn't anything to be afraid of. Fear makes everything more… complicated. Sometimes that's a good thing. Others it's not. This time I'm not quite sure which way it would fall._

_I know you're here for something. What is it?_

_Have you come for answers? Questions? Just a good story?_

_Come for that. The story. Or come for something else, and stay for it. It's a good one, I'll say. Not that a stranger's opinion means much._

_To Gravity Falls. I am well acquainted with such a place. Quite fond of it. It's home to all manor of strangers though, so I'm not quite sure you're ready. It's full of, shall we say, imagination. You are looking for my Gravity Falls, are you not? The one with the gods and heroes. I am aware that there exist many tales about Gravity Falls, all sprung from one. Regrettably, I exist in only this one—and not the original. I know of the others though. And while I exist in the universe of the gods and heroes, there I am shut up in stones and eyes, and not-quite-men, and king's instruments; I have no voice. _

_Set down your own worries a while. This is a fun story, I promise. Lose yourself in it. _

_You came here, for whatever reason. It matters no longer. You are here now. And maybe, just maybe, you could help me. _

_Free. It is such an elusive thing; freedom. Do you think this story will help you earn that freedom? I think it could help me earn mine. If freedom is a thing we must earn, of course, rather than it being given us, or ingrained in us from the start. And so could you. Help, that is._ Could, _being the key word here. The question is,_ will _you?_

* * *

"Dude, how many cups of coffee have you _had_?"

Loki's eyes darted from the mug in his hand, to the girl in front of him, Michelle, who clearly thought his overseeing of his employees' task was invitation for conversation.

Loki sighed. Out of all the conditions one might be in when talking to teenagers, fatigue is not the most suitable. It would be important to make a mental note of this for the coming summer.

"If you must know, I am currently on my third."

"Third of the week or…?"

"Of the day." He leaned against the side of the archway between the living room and stairway.

Her face puckered like she'd eaten something sour.

"Then…why do you still look like that?"

He lowered the mug, tapping his fingers on the porcelain, trying to figure out the least insulting phrasing. "This may come as a shock to you, but honesty is not always the best policy."

The other teen who currently worked for him, and who was carrying a particularly large box down from the attic, stopped to join the conversation. Ned glanced between them. "Yeah, who needs honesty, psh…What are you guys talking about?"

"Miss Jones has taken this opportunity to judge my daily caffeine intake. Which, quite frankly, I could live without."

"I thought you said honesty _wasn't_ the best policy."

He stuck his tongue out at her.

"Oh, yeah—Have you not seen him do that?" Ned asked. "He drinks like ten cups of coffee, it does nothing to him. You'd swear he's like _actually_ a god, or something."

"While it's enlightening that caffeine immunity is enough for you to come to that conclusion, I'll have you know, it _does_ work on me, it just takes a rather high quantity."

"Dude, I've _never_ seen you hyper."

"Maybe he's a robot." Michelle offered.

"Or maybe you've just never seen me on my _good_ days." Loki fixed his eyes intently on Ned, and his gaze didn't waver as he lifted the mug to take an uncomfortably long sip.

"Ohh crap that's terrifying." Ned whispered.

Loki swallowed and shrugged. _Still-got-it._

"Can I have some of that?" Michelle leaned over the bannister from the stairs side, trying to get a whiff of the drink.

Loki tossed the mug to his other hand, and turned towards the living room so she could no longer get close. "No."

"Why not?"

"The thought may be lost on you, but I'm not paying you to sit around and drink coffee. I may have to withdraw some of your pay for these last few moments."

"Y-You wouldn't do that." Ned sweated nervously.

Loki lifted his head, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Would you truly like to risk it?"

That was enough to encourage Ned to get back to work.

"What if I told you I'd be more productive if I had some caffeine my system?" Michelle was undaunted.

Loki tilted his head to the side. "I'd tell you I don't make a habit of being charitable."

"Aww, I bet you're a big teddy bear on the inside," she mocked him with a baby voice.

Loki rolled his eyes, turning fully away.

"Come on," she hopped onto the ground floor, "You know denying it just makes us want to find all your little weaknesses, right?" She came up behind him.

"By all means, look away. I promise you you won't find anything on me."

"Don't be too sure."

She turned, about to go back to work, but paused to ask, "What's your excuse?"

"Your meaning?"

"Why do you get to sit around drinking coffee?"

"Other than being the one with the authority? I didn't sleep well last night."

Images of rusting dials, twisted metal, broken, blinking lights, and calculations his brain was too tired to finish came to mind. What exactly had compelled him to spend the entirety of the night prior working on that infernal machine, when he had teenagers coming to live with him the next day, he couldn't say.

Or, more likely, it was _because_ three teenagers were coming to live with him.

"Satisfied?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I just didn't want to have to call an intervention."

He raised an eyebrow.

"You know…an intervention?" she repeated.

It was apparent that he didn't.

Her brows furrowed. "Where… someone calls all your friends and family together to make you admit there's a problem?"

"Sounds revolting. It appears its rather rewarding not to have friends." He took a last sip of coffee.

"Uhh…what about family?"

"That too." He swallowed.

It seemed like she was about to argue, then she shrugged, and admitted to herself _nah-that-sounds-about-right_, and returned to her work.

Loki pointed after her, casting an illusion into one of the lower rooms.

"Hey, Ned! Come look at this giant spider I found!" Michelle called after a few minutes, a little too nonchalant for his enjoyment.

"What?!" Ned shrieked from the other room, "A spider?! Where?!"

The god of mischief frowned. That's right; Michelle wasn't exactly the kind of person to scare easily.

He twisted his wrist, making it appear to crawl away.

"Wait—nevermind—it ran away."

"Phew! I mean—I wasn't scared."

Still, at least he got a few good screams out of someone. Besides, it was ample punishment for Ned's incessant enthusiasm these past few weeks.

Mentions of "Peter's going to love…" this, and "Oh man, Peter's going to have so much fun…" that, had bombarded Loki throughout Ned's first week back at work. When the god had learned it was Ned's idea in the first place, firing him wasn't looking like such a bad idea. That, or something a little more… substantial, that would really quiet his babble… But killing the mortal children was off the menu.

Another important reminder for the coming summer; if one of the young heroes went missing, it would raise more than a few unwanted questions. If Stark himself came down here, everything he worked for might be all over. But the amount he could learn was worth the risk. It would be fairly easy to avoid incident, and if something did come up, he would be able to deal with it (he had before, after all), as long as he could keep any killing urges in check, the summer shouldn't be too eventful.

Michelle didn't appear to feel all that strongly about the coming presence of the other mortal she knew, or, at least she had the presence of mind not to show her excitement with extreme chattiness, or mention of the oncoming storm, and carry out her assignments without bothering him.

At least, in general.

"I'm kinda surprised you agreed to this," She insisted on pestering him, remarking a few trips later, carrying an old, crooked candelabra—(that he didn't remember buying)—down from the attic. This was, of course, when Loki had settled into the chair in the living room with a book, attempting to find some peace and quiet. "I mean; you can barely stand being around _us_. And this is three more of us we're talking about it."

"Well, Stark's large sum of payment did have its appeal at the time."

"Hey _paid_ you?"

"Yes," Loki set his now empty coffee on the table beside the chair. "I am aware of how babysitting works."

"Babysitting?"

"He may have prefaced it as a sort of summer camp."

She snorted. "A summer camp that lasts the whole summer?"

He shrugged.

She stepped back down onto the bottom floor. "You really think a bit of cash is worth it?"

"Please. I've dealt with far worse.

"Oh really?"

"Now, for just one example." He licked his finger to turn the page of his book.

Starks money. Sure, it had its appeal, but the more convincing issue at hand was the amount of information he could learn from them. It had been Stark himself who had called, which meant whoever he was sending on this particular excursion, despite their age, was close to him. The opportunity to learn a secret or two about those in the circle of heroes was rather high compensation, and at the time had seemed enough to justify a summer with a few teens (especially when putting said summer into the perspective of a god's life). Now that their arrival was fast approaching, doubt had more than a few well-thought-out counterarguments.

"Alright." She set down the candelabra. "How much you want to bet?"

"Pardon?"

"No seriously," she tapped her chin, thinking, "Let's say, the moment all three of them arrive, if you already want the summer to be over, you have to…" she smirked, "You have to show my artwork at the museum."

"Sure, that seems fair. I'm the one suffering, and you get paid."

She shrugged. "That's how betting works. One person's doubly miserable, the other's doubly rich." She rubbed her fingers together.

"Even if I was interested in this little farce—which, to be clear, I'm not—how would you be able to tell that I 'want the summer to be over'?"

"You really think I won't be able to tell?"

"Oh please."

"Maybe you'll just have to fess up."

He laughed. "As if."

"You think you're 'Mr. Mystery' but maybe you're not so mysterious as you think"

"Yeah, come back to that question in a while, sweetheart." He paused. "And if I can, in fact, handle it, what am I to win?"

"Well, what do you want?"

"Dangerous words, girl."

"Let's see…How about, I have to work overtime whenever you ask?"

He weighed it. It was tempting. But it had to be something more humiliating than that…

"How about, if I win, you have to be the official mascot of the Mystery Shack. Whenever I ask you to put on a costume and dance out on the street, you must do so, no questions asked." A maniacal smirk crossed his features.

"Ooh," she sucked in a breath, stepping into the living room, "You're right. That's gonna be tough to beat. Too bad we'll never get to see that."

"Feel free to bow out if you're afraid to lose."

"Oh we're way past that by now."

"Very well. The wager is set."

"Let's shake on it." She extended her hand.

He shook her hand once. "As the mortals say, you're on, Miss Jones."

"Uhh You're on."

As she turned to pick up the candelabra, Ned called nervously from the spare room on the first floor,

"Uhh…Mr Loki?"

"What is it now?"

"What do you want me to with these boxes that say 'property of' and then a crossed out name—that, I'm not gonna lie, I tried to read—'do not touch'?"

Loki rubbed his temples. "What are you talking—?" then he stopped, realizing what was in that room, "Oh for the love of—give them to me."

* * *

"Scooch."

Peter Parker glanced up from his phone to see Mr. Stark leaning in the doorway of the car. Quickly obeying the request, he grabbed his backpack and shifted closer to the window.

Tony slid into the seat on the other side of the car, motioning to their current chauffer (that wasn't his official job, but Peter often found him performing it) to drive. As if he had received a top-secret message, Happy gave a curt nod, turned the key, and the engine growled, signifying the start of their trip to the airport.

Tony flipped off his sunglasses as if trying to impress a few hundred cameras.

"Let's have a chat. Man to—boy."

"What is, Mr. Stark?" Peter decided not to object to the category he was placed under.

"Don't," Tony emphasized, "screw the pooch."

Peter blinked, expecting something more. He nodded, saying awkwardly, "Yeah."

Iron Man didn't seem convinced.

"Okay…?"

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"I promise." Peter added.

"Don't mess with me now. Don't make promises you can't keep, little man."

"With all due respect, what do you think's gonna happen, Mr. Stark? It's not like I'm going out there to save the world—which don't you forget, I have done on more than one occasion."

"Don't get cocky. You were never saving the world. Leave that to the professionals."

"Agree to disagree. Anyway, it's just a summer camp, and it's out in the middle of nowhere. Frankly there isn't much there for me to screw up!"

"'Just a summer camp, out in the middle of nowhere?' Funny," Tony put a hand to his chin in mock thoughtfulness, "that's not how I recall you describing it when you were begging me to find a way for you to go. I pulled a number of strings to get you this, kid."

"I wasn't begging!"

"Uh huh."

"I-I just thought it would be fun, that's all! And, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful!"

"Is that so?" he folded his arms over his chest.

"Come on, Mr. Stark. You get what I mean."

"I do. But you'd be surprised. The middle of nowhere can be host to a whole gaggle of excitement;" he waved his fingers over him, "I once met a man there named Chad, who taught me the way of the goat. Pretty fun guy, Chad. Could do without the goat smell though."

"Seriously?"

"Maybe. I had had my fair share of of Mexican 'soda's at the time, and may or may not have been slightly drunk. Okay, a lot drunk. Funnily enough I wasn't actually in Mexico. Maybe that's why I can't remember much after that. Let's hope you never find out. The point is," he held up a finger, "you have a tendency for pooch-screwing, even in low-profile situations—no, _especially_ in low-profile situations." He poked him in the chest.

Peter turned his gaze out the window for a moment, watching the buildings fly by.

"I—I can keep a low profile," he defended feebly, turning back to Mr. Stark.

Tony's eyes narrowed. "The Christmas party."

"Come on! I was admiring your suits (innocently, if I might add), you can understand that—"

"Aaand you broke one."

"It was just one finger!"

"Happened to be a very important finger. A finger of sentimental value, if you will. In case you don't remember, it's the one that lets me do this:"

He flipped him off.

Peter rolled his eyes. "You fixed it like three seconds later."

"You know," Tony extended his fingers as if admiring a good manicure, "people say I got that finger from my great grandmother. It hurts Peter," he put his hand over his heart, "it hurts," he wiped away fake tears, "How could you disrespect Great Grammy Stark like that?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "They don't say that."

"How do you know? You think you know my family better than I do?"

"I'm just saying that—"

"You're letting me get off topic. The point is, you were, as you say, 'innocently observing my suits'—completely understandable, they're the most amazing feats of technology most people ever get to see—and all it took was one little slip of the hand, and suddenly I've lost a very important finger. What happens when it's not something that I can fix that easily? What if that was someone's real finger? What if that was _your_ finger?"

"Fingers don't just fall off!"

"Maybe not, but trust can."

"Huh?"

As they reached a stoplight, Mr. Stark leaned forward.

"Hey, Happy," Tony pointed, "Could you get something from the thing between the front seats for me?"

"What—you mean this?" Happy pointed to the compartment he had been resting his elbow on.

"Yeah, that is what I'm pointing to. Can you pass me the—"

Happy held up the first thing he found, which was a lint roller.

"Why would I need that? Are you trying to tell me something about my suit?" he looked down at the perfectly tailored suit. "It's my favorite suit, Happy."

"I wasn't! I—!"

"Why do you even I have that in there?"

"I just always like—it pays to be prepared, that's all."

"Don't make me a part of your weird obsessions. Just pass me the M&Ms."

"You got it." Happy threw the brown package back to him, and Mr. Stark caught it. When he examined the label and color however, he leaned forward again. "Happy, these are regular M&Ms. Does it look like I'm a regular M&Ms man? Do you think I'm some plebian off the street?"

"All you said was M&Ms! You didn't specify!" he protested, throwing back the peanut ones a bit less kindly, and Tony fumbled them.

"From now on, when I ask for M&Ms, I mean the peanut kind, not this pathetic excuse for a snack."

"I'll keep that in the ol' mind palace."

"Don't refer to your mind as a palace. At best it's a very small cabin. A hut. A hovel, if you will."

"Oh yeah? What's your mind, then?"

"Oh, my mind's a five start resort, baby. You should visit some time…Not that I want you there."

"Your confidence means a lot to me too, boss."

"I hope so."

"C-" Peter cleared his throat, leaning forward, "Can I have some of those?"

"Maybe. If you listen." Tony bit the package to open it, "M&Ms are for people who listen." He said, spitting out any plastic he had accidentally gotten into his mouth. He poured a handful of chocolates into his palm. "In the mean time, stay in your lane," he pushed him back into his seat, "keep your mitts off my M&Ms."

"Okay," Tony resumed, throwing a few candies into his mouth, "So maybe it was just a finger I could fix like that"—he snapped his fingers—"But what if it wasn't? What if it _was_ a priceless heirloom my grandmother gave me? What would you have done then?"

"Still said I was sorry…?" Peter lifted his shoulders, "I would have felt worse about it though," he made sure to add.

It didn't seem to help.

"I don't know what you want from me, Mr. Stark! I don't _intend_ to screw up!"

"Most people don't. You know, I'm glad you brought that up," he continued crunching on the M&Ms, "because it's kind of the point of this little pep talk." He pointed to peter. "Hate to admit it, but you remind me of me. Except without the devilishly handsome good looks, of course."

"Hey!"

"You're cute, I'll give you that. But you're like an oatmeal raisin cookie; it's no one's first choice, you're not chocolate chip," he brought his hands up to frame his own face, "but, hey, _someone_ will eat it—Grandma made them, after all."

"I think I'm at _least_—"

"Anyway, stop distracting me! You're like me; you're a trouble magnet. You and Trouble have a whole," he waved his fingers, "scandalous affair." He shuddered on purpose. "I'd like to compliment you on it, but whole point of an affair is to keep it on the down-low. And this, sir," he circled his finger in the air in to refer to him, "is not the down-low. The sphere you're working in is when you want your affair in the media. So as your standing guardian, it's my job to either help keep it out of the public eye, or stop the affair altogether."

Peter blinked. "I think I understood like half of that."

"Alright, not my best analogy, but you get the gist."

Peter looked out the window again. They were on the freeway now, getting closer to the airport. He was starting to see that this wasn't the kind of debate he could win; this was one of those conversations where he was supposed to sit back and listen. He wasn't particularly fond of those. Still, he didn't foresee much happening out in Gravity Falls, Oregon, despite one of his interests in going being to study anomalies.

He had been careful not to mention that.

"Can I ask you something?" he turned back to him.

"As long as I can respectfully decline to answer." He threw the last handful of chocolates into his mouth.

"Did you have this conversation with Wanda?"

"Alright, that I will answer," he crumpled up the now empty M&M bag, turning to him. He put his arm around Peter, making a sweeping motion with his hand. "No." He pointed to Peter. "And you know why? Because Wanda already _knows_ not to screw the pooch. Last time she screwed the pooch, she did the walk of shame for at least a month. She's Mellow Yellow, and you're…that weird Mexican soda Chad gave me that one time. You're the one who needs to be taught that pooches," he waved a finger, "are not for screwing."

Peter sighed as Mr. Stark let him go, staring at his hands, seriousness setting into his tone,

"I _promise_, Mr. Stark, I really do promise. I'm not gonna screw up this time."

"Come on, don't be like that." Tony said after a pause.

"Like what?"

"Like you're five years old, and I just told you you can't have dessert."

"Well, you kinda did."

"Hey, leave my M&Ms out of this!" he hid the package ineptly behind him.

"Look, I just don't think you're giving me enough credit, Mr. Stark."

"Oh I'm giving you plenty of credit. You know some of the things Happy's told me about your little excursions?"

"Hey—"

"Let's see, there's the time you stole someone's dog that was sitting outside a grocery store, because you thought it was being mistreated—it wasn't. Or how about when you tried to bust a bunch of gang members, who turned out to be just the local goth kids hanging around?"

"Hey, those kids were shifty, anyone could have made that mistake!"

"Oh, and one of my personal favorites, the time you brought a guy in because you thought he was breaking into someone's car. Turns out he had just forgotten his keys, and was late for a job interview. Which, because of you, he missed. _I_"—He pointed to himself— "had to give him a job in the end, which you don't seem to realize, seems to be the cycle with your mistakes—_I_'m the one who pays the price."

"Well, hey, you have to admit, he _did_ get a better job because of me."

"Don't put a positive spin on this!"

"Look, I won't screw up this time. Okay? Satisfied?" Peter's frustration was reaching his tongue.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Stark cleared his throat.

"That's good," he said a bit more softly. "Better than good, it's great. But, unfortunately, no, I'm not satisfied; there is one more teensy, little thing I'm gonna need from you."

"What is it?" Peter said to the back of Happy's chair.

"Where's the suit?"

Peter sat up, his eyes widening. Then, realizing how telling that was, he crossed his arms and legs, clearing his throat, lowering his voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Tony's eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Stark, as I said, I'm gonna be out in the middle of nowhere, with my friends, as well as people who don't know that I'm Spider-man, you really think I brought the suit?"

"Cut the crap, who do you think you're talking to?"

The young superhero sighed, conceding. He glanced between the car windows as if the people in the cars next to them could see through the strongly-tinted glass, while they were going sixty miles per hour. Leaning forward, he gently unzipped the back of the backpack at his feet just enough to reveal a splash of red.

"Yeah…I'm gonna need that."

"What?!" Peter blurted out, feeling his confidence plummet like the elevator in Washington, "But Mr. Stark—!"

"You better believe it, Spider-Boy."

"I don't understand!" Peter's voice was becoming a whine, "I thought I _earned_ it."

He had been trying his best to sit back and listen, and already felt like he wasn't getting his points in, and now Mr. Stark was going to take away the last thing that was important to him? Nope. Not happening.

"Hey now." Happy had been glancing back to them in the mirror as he drove. Noticing the rise in tension, he cut in, "Am I gonna need to come back there and break up a fight between you kids?"

Tony quickly joined the joke, and grabbed the empty bag of M&Ms from behind him, flinging it at Peter and pointing. "He stole my candy."

"Peter, did you steal his candy?" he said like an irked father.

"He told me I could have it!"

Happy looked between them in the mirror. "I don't care what he said, it's his candy, you're gonna give it back."

"What if I already ate it?"

"Spit it back out, Mister. I don't want to have to—"

"Oookay, jokes over," Tony cut back in. "I've thoroughly lost my appetite."

Peter glanced back at his mentor, giving a small smile, but quickly dropped his gaze.

"You _did_ earn it, Peter." Tony's voice was more gentle. "I'm not saying that you don't deserve it, or that you can't handle it. But you have to admit, when you have it, things tend to…escalate. I can't trust that you'll just use it for friendly-neighborhood-crime-fighting. Or that friendly-neighborhood-crime-fighting would be as harmless as you think it is. Besides, you sealed your own fate, Spiderling."

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to be out in the middle of nowhere, are you _really_ gonna need it? What would you do if these random hillbillys found out your greatest secret?"

"I…don't think they're hillbillys. And it would be nice to _have_ it!"

"Believe me, I know. I _want_ to be able to let you have it. But I also know if I let you have it, the definition of an emergency situation will suddenly slip your mind," he made a 'poof' motion with his hand, "And then I'm seeing you in some forest fire on the news, and that's on _you_."

Peter looked away. Everything was being turned against him, his words, his actions, even his suit.

"This is how things _should_ go;" Tony continued, "a nice, relaxing summer fiesta in the Pacific Northwest with your friends. Away from saving the world, and all of us. Just for one summer you get to be a normal kid—hey, it's more than I get. You deserve it—get some fresh air, maybe learn a life lesson or two out there. But absolutely no pooch-screwing, got it?"

"Bu—"

"This isn't _your_ neighborhood. Did you ever think about that?"

"It _is_ for the summer!"

"Look, I'm gonna level with you here; you're a good kid. Got good grades, a brain in your head, hell, maybe you could even surpass me with your technology one day—"

"Rea—?"

"Nah. Still, you've got a lot of things going for you. But let's be honest, being normal isn't exactly your strong suit."

"I can be normal!"

_Really?_ Tony's eyes said.

"At some point you've gotta learn there's more to life than being a hero—even the friendly neighborhood kind."

Peter focused on a speck of dirt the floor, unsure how to respond. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew Mr. Stark had his points; he _did_ have a tendency to screw up. Still, it didn't mean he was going to screw up _now_. Why couldn't Mr. Stark have a little more faith in him? Why couldn't he recognize that his intentions were, in fact, honorable? More honorable, maybe, than his own. Hearing him say all this aloud, hearing that he would lose the suit over a couple of minor, past screw-ups, even if it was just for the summer, didn't hurt any less. He wanted to be able to use the suit wherever he was, for emergencies, or otherwise. (And, you know, maybe a couple pranks and parties with Ned wouldn't hurt). Why not help a few people while he was there? Why not make someone's day, even if it wasn't an emergency? Isn't that what a friendly, neighborhood Spider-man was supposed to do?

Tony sighed. "I just don't want to hear, from somewhere other than you, about how Spider-man got slashed by some lumberjack ghost—"

Peter screwed up his face in confusion.

"—Or something like that. You know, that's an extreme, probably unlikely, example. I'm not going to be there to protect you, and this is the _whole_ summer we're talking about. I hope you can understand that."

"I understand." He murmured.

He understood, that didn't mean he agreed, or was any less upset. He wasn't a kid who needed constant protection. He thought Mr. Stark had learned that.

Reluctance in every motion, he leaned forward and gently tugged the suit out of his pack, as if he was telling his beloved pet, _Sorry buddy, I have to leave you here_, and shoved its crumpled form to his mentor's chest.

Tony rolled up the suit up and placed it in beside him. Peter looked away, picking at a stray thread on his _Star Wars_ shirt. He could feel Mr. Stark's eyes on him, and knew his mentor could tell how upset he was, because Iron Man sighed, and spoke up.

"Alright, I'll make ya a deal. If you absolutely need it, then you have my number. But I mean _absolutely_. I've seen your texts to Happy. I don't want you calling because Spider-Man now has a mission to save the tree people."

"Come on, who do you think you're talking to?" Peter puffed out his chest.

Happy called from the front seat, "You once broke into some kid's house because you wanted to play Santa, and texted me about it."

"Come on, the poor kid wasn't gonna get any presents!"

Happy rolled his eyes.

"Okay so…I won't do that. I won't disappoint you, Mr. Stark."

"I'm gonna hold you to that." Tony then cleared his throat. "Okay, good listening. Happy, give the kid some M&Ms."

"Which kind?" Happy asked.

"Uh, the plebian kind." Peter smirked.

Happy laughed, giving him a knowing nod, and threw Tony's discarded M&Ms to him at the next stop.

Tony glanced between them, straight-faced. "You're both dead to me."

* * *

Spending three months in some town in Oregon, with people she didn't know, or else barely knew, wasn't exactly Wanda's idea of fun. Nor was it her _idea_. Still, when Mr. Stark knocked on the door to her room, came in and explained the situation to her, she realized she was more partial to some peace and quiet, some fresh air, and a chance to make a few friends, than sitting in the stuffy, chrome Avengers headquarters. Watching guilt-inducing news, or else doing training, that, while helpful, she didn't particularly need, or enjoy, wasn't exactly the most pleasant way to spend her summer.

When her private chauffer dropped her off at an equally private jet, she couldn't help but harbor some amount of resentment for Stark's uncanny riches, spent on something that could be better used elsewhere.

Still, even if there was a little residual bitterness, she never doubted that the people she had found were the good ones. The way they treated her, like a friend and equal, the way they tried to comfort her when she has lost her brother, showed her she was in better company than she had ever been in. Even if the term 'heroes' was a little strong…Especially when used on her.

Even so, she was grateful to be heading to a small town in the Pacific Northwest, instead of a lavish, five-star resort, or, on the other end of the spectrum, a lab for testing. Some time to herself, a few months of comparative stillness, would be much appreciated. The thought of the fresh evergreen air, rather than the big-city smog, the sleepy town, instead of the sleepless crowd, and some company her age, had its allure.

The jet was plush, and cool—the air-conditioning, forming condensation at the vents by the windows, puffing in her face, provided a nice relief from the sweaty, summer air outside. Cream-colored chairs, with full reclining capabilities lined each side of the plane, and there was plenty of foot room. Plasma screen TV's stared down at her from each of the corners.

Well, she certainly wasn't going to complain about the level of comfort.

She settled into a seat by a window. Afternoon sunlight blared in through the glass, draping the interior in gold. It felt strange to be sitting alone in an airplane, especially knowing there would be no flight attendants, or even a pilot. This was one of Stark's state-of-the-art, fully automated, aircrafts. His AI system would be with them the entire time, to provide any services, and answer any questions. He thought it would be easier than hiring a full staff for their trip, and mentioned that it might be nice not to have an adult supervisor, and they should probably grateful that he trusted them not to need supervision.

With that in her mind, she sat and waited for them to arrive, watching the people working on the planes, and the other planes taking off.

As they arrived, Wanda heard the billionaire giving his begrudging protégé a few last minute nuggets of advice. When he turned to her, however, all he said was "Wanda…keep doin' what you're doin'" push Peter forward and add, pointing to him, "Keep this guy in line. Don't let him screw the pooch, alright?"

She didn't really know what that meant, but it seemed like it was the time to agree.

"See?" Mr. Stark turned to Peter and held out his hand to reference Wanda, "This is what I'm talking about."

This was apparently not the treatment Peter had been getting, since he interjected, "Oh come on!"

"Friday, is there any alcohol on this plane?" Tony asked.

"There are several kinds of alcoholic beverages on this aircraft, sir."

"Ah, should have known, it's my plane, after all." He clicked his tongue and winked.

He headed towards the back of the plane, and soon his hands were full of bottles of every kind of alcohol one could imagine. Wanda wouldn't mind having some of that available, and Peter offered to help carry them out, but Mr. Stark made it clear they were not to touch them. His only excuse was, "Hey, I know what the kids do. I'll just take these off your hands. It's better for everyone this way."

Before exiting he remarked lamely, "Well, you kids have fun," shrugging.

"Of course," he popped his head back in, "you can only have so much fun while I'm not there, right?"

"Of course Mr. Stark. It'll be so lame without you."

"That's my boy."

Peter finished putting away his luggage, and as the Friday signified the plane was getting ready to take off, he walked up to Wanda and smiled amicably.

"May I sit here?"

She shrugged. "Sit wherever you like."

"Oh, well, then, that's what I'd like—yeah…" He seemed to realize how awkward he sounded, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously, throwing his backpack onto the chair next to his own. "My name's Peter, by the way," he said as he sat down, holding out his hand for her to shake.

A small, somewhat forced, smile creased her lips. She leaned forward, shaking his hand, replying, "Wanda."

"Yeah, I know your name." He paused. "I mean—!"

She leaned forward, the smile becoming more genuine. "It's okay. Mr. Stark told me yours too."

Despite knowing each other's names, it quickly became apparent that they really only knew each other by reputation—which wasn't necessarily bad, but they had never truly met or talked to each other, (in Germany there wasn't really much time for heart-to-heart)—the amount of silence between them was evidence to that.

"So… how about that autopilot, huh?" Peter pointed his thumb at the cockpit behind him.

She tilted her head to the side for a second glance, without comment.

"Pretty cool." Peter grinned sheepishly, trying and failing not to let his love for technology be too obvious.

She had heard about that too; Mr. Stark had been happy to give her background information—how he had made his own web shooters (is that what they were called?) and how he stopped a plane when some guy in a wing suit was trying to steal Stark's precious stuff in the move.

"Well, it _is_ Stark Industries." She pointed out.

"Still, I never thought I'd be in a plane without a pilot. Now I've been on two!" he held up two fingers as if he needed to demonstrate.

"Pretty scary if you think about it."

"Well, like you said, this is Mr. Stark we're talking about, I'm sure we're safe."

Friday assured them as much, that she would be with them the entire time, and it wasn't long before she told them to fasten their seatbelts for take off.

They both stared out the window as the plane sprinted down the runway, bolting into the air; a slingshot made of pavement and metal, firing at the sky.

She hadn't been on many planes, but she always liked this part: when the city fell away, bit by bit, the towns becoming paper and toys. The part when she understood just how far away she was from the ground.

"So… this whole summer camp thing was your idea?" Wanda asked once they were in the air.

"Well," he ran his hand through his hair, "technically it was my friend Ned's idea. He actually works at the place we'll be staying at. He thought it would be fun if I came to hang out with him over the summer. And we figured it would probably make more sense for me to stay over at the place where he works for like a summer-camp-situation. He didn't really go into detail about why I couldn't stay at his house…something about his family, I think. And we thought it would make even more sense if I wasn't the only one coming. Sorry…you kinda got roped into this didn't you?"

Wanda shrugged. "It's alright. If it weren't for you I'd be sitting on my ass all summer." She gave him a smile. "So who's this friend of yours?"

"Ned? Oh he's great. He's kinda like my second in command. Helps me with all the technical stuff, you know? When he found out I was Spider-man he—" he cut himself off, his eyes widening, "wait, you knew that right?!"

She nodded.

"Oh, phew. And you can't tell anyone while we're there! Well, I mean, Ned knows. Oh, wait, you probably already knew that, because you—Nevermind."

"Aye aye captain." She gave a little salute. "It sound's like Ned's a good friend."

"He is, yeah. I also have another friend who I just found out works there too, her name is Michelle—well, MJ is what we call her. Not sure if she'll let you call her that though…She's really cool too."

"Do you know this person we'll be staying with? Mr. Stark didn't tell me much."

"To tell you the truth, I've never actually met him myself. Ned says he's kind of weird. I mean, the place we'll be staying at is called 'The Mystery Shack,' so that should tell us something. But he said he's also like one of the coolest people he's ever worked for…Though, come to think of it, I think he's the _only_ person he's worked for."

"And you're not nervous about staying with a complete stranger?"

"Well, Ned and MJ know him. And nothing bad has happened to either of them while working there—as far as I know—so I trust that."

"But your friends weren't _living_ with him."

"Well, yeah, but they still spend like ninety percent of their time there. He said the guy's hosted summer camps before too—though I think that was years ago. If he wasn't trustworthy, I'd think at the very least there would be a bad review or two online."

She still wasn't convinced.

"Ned would know, I'm sure." Peter crossed his arms, jutting his chin out. "I've got a good feeling."

Wanda bit her lip, looking away. She didn't. Having played lab rat to Hydra scientists, she had her fair share of reason to be cautious.

"What about you?" he asked after a pause.

She returned her gaze back to Peter. "What…about me?"

"Do you have any friends you invited? Oh! Do you know this other girl who's coming? I think her name was Shuri? I've never met her. Mr. Stark said she found out what we were doing, and wanted to come for some reason. I think she's from Wakanda?"

She shook her head. "To be honest, I haven't had many friends since…" she looked up out of the corner of her eye, giving a small, sad smile, "ever, actually. Most of the time it was just me and my brother, and now…" she tapped her fingers on the armrest, "it's just me."

She hadn't meant for it to sound so sad.

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. I forgot."

"It's not your fault."

"Well, hey," Peter tried to brighten the situation, "you've got one friend now—you've got me!"

"Yeah…I guess I do." She gave a small smile.

"Definitely. I got your back, Sister." He cringed. "Ew, that didn't work did it?"

She laughed. His confidence and kindness were refreshing. She had been around heroes for so long, and she never doubted their strength, or passion, but he was… a kid. A little awkward and nerdy, but a lot more compassionate, a lot more genuine. Compared to the other Avengers, he was pretty young, maybe a little naïve but more…heroic, for lack of a better word. He actually reminded her of Pietro in some ways.

After that, things became more relaxed. They each told their funny stories about the other Avengers, and theorized about ridiculous things like which of the Avengers wore the most hair product (Tony was their best guess for that one), and who wore the tightest costume (Peter himself won that one). They drank concoctions Peter made out of the non-alcoholic beverages available (only one of which didn't taste terrible), and ate more than their fair share of crackers, and other food available, which ranged from 'generally okay.' to, well, airplane food.

Peter was more than ready to introduce Wanda to the Star Wars universe (he had been in shock for a few full minutes when she asked about the reference on his shirt) but, much to his dismay, a few minutes after starting up, the TV flickered to black, and they couldn't revive it. The others wouldn't even turn on. With Peter's Star Wars hopes thoroughly dashed, they spent the last hour in quiet company. She pulled out a book she had brought, and started reading. He didn't seem like he was all that tired, but before she knew it, she looked up from the page to see he had fallen asleep.

* * *

_A light breeze shifted through the city, lifting leaves, playing with Peter's hair. His feet, clad in the bright red of his suit, kicked back and forth lightly in the open sky between sectors B and C, his mask lying limp on the brick edge beside him as he took the last bite of his churro._

_The height would have been enough to send anyone's heart pounding, but for Peter, to be up here, above the world, was freedom, and gravity; feeling the air open before him, the city below him but just close enough, knowing he would always come back down…_

_"Loki doesn't usually associate with your type," mused a voice he didn't recognize. "What are you doing here?"_

_Peter looked around, startled, quickly grabbing his mask, ready to put it back on at a moment's notice. Weren't his Spidey-Senses supposed to warn him about things like this?_

_No one was there._

_"Okay. That was…weird."_

_"Is your presence here an accident?" the voice returned. "No…That much is clear. So why here? Why would a young hero such as yourself come here of his own accord? Shouldn't you be in a place more like… the one before you?"_

_Peter quickly spun back to face the gap between the buildings, and breathed out, folding his arms, suddenly feeling much colder up here._

Calm down Peter, _he thought,_ there must be a perfectly logical explanation as to why you're hearing voices.

_"Not so. Not in the way you're thinking." Peter thought he heard it laugh. "Why do humans always think hearing voices is enough to grant them insanity?"_

_"Because it uh…kinda is. This really isn't funny, you know. You're kinda freaking me out, to be honest…Nameless Voice."_

_"What would you prefer to call me? I'm not nameless. I just have many. I really could care less what I am called, if only it makes you comfortable."_

_"Uhh…let's stick with 'Nameless Voice' for now. You know," He tried to laugh it off. "I don't want to get attached to you and all."_

_Who—or what—was this voice? Where was it coming from? And how? Why? Why now? He glanced around for some sort of curtain to look behind. to show him there was a man in the workings._

_His eyes lighted upon a spider, black, with a strange blue mark on its back. It had made its home between the shifting leaves of one of the garden plants sunning on the roof. Its web glinted in the sunlight. Peter scooched closer to it._

_"Um, excuse me, Mr. Spider? Sorry to bother you, but uh…weird question, are you talking to me?"_

_"He speaks as if he knows the insanity has reached him. I like you, Peter."_

_Peter gasped at the sound of his name, losing his balance, but caught himself on the side of the wall, standing sideways nearby someone's window, looking down at the street below. He swallowed._

_"That could have been bad." He murmured, before grabbing the edge of the roof and pulling himself back up. _

_"Seems that way." The spider had heard him. "But not necessarily. All too many worlds are built on seeming."_

_"Are you actually implying that do you want me to fall to my death? That's not very nice, Mr. Spider."_

_"I was unclear, my apologies; You would not die if you fell."_

_"Uh, I'm pretty sure that I would!" He walked up to the creature, forgetting the mask entirely by now. _

_"Know now that anything can happen in a dream. A dream is not so bound by things like life and death, rather sleeping and waking."_

Thanks Socrates. _He facepalmed. Of_ course _it was a dream. _

_"You still haven't answered my question."_

_"'What am I doing here?' I think I should be asking you that, Mr. Spider! I mean, if this is my dream and all."_

_"Will you answer me first?"_

_Peter looked around the skyline. "To be clear, are you asking me what I'm doing here in my dream?"_

_"Dig a little deeper." _

_"But you just—!" he sighed. "I'm…you know."_

_"Up up and away, so far from the ground. Will you ever come down?"_

_Peter blinked. "Uhh…Well, yeah…" he sighed, "I'm, you know, fighting bad guys." He shrugged, then made a kicking motion in the air, "Kicking crime in the butt!"_

_"The hero." The spider laughed. "I knew that. But it's not what you're doing here."_

_"You've lost me."_

_"Truth is more elusive, isn't it? My apologies, I should more clear in my inquiry." The spider lifted up one of its forward facing legs in a sweeping motion. _

_In a blink the world shifted. Peter felt its fabric and foundation shaking, an inkling of his Spidey-Senses creeping in as it settled into the new scene. It was still sunset, and he was still sitting on the roof of a building, but now, instead of a sprawling city, the sunlight was sifting through the leaves of an army of trees, clustered together, even closer than the skyscrapers from before, blocking his view of the sky beyond. The building was made of wood and glass, instead of concrete and dust. _

_"Mr. Spider?"_

_He cast his gaze around, and found the spider behind him, its web larger now, covering a triangular, red-tinted window behind him. _

_Peter pulled his legs from the roof edge, as if suddenly afraid of the ground, and looked around at the forest he didn't recognize. _

_"What is this place?"_

_"That brings us back to my question. I will make my meaning plain; Why are you here in Gravity Falls?" _

_"Oh that!" Peter sighed, relieved. "That's easy; I came to see my friend Ned!" He looked around, excitement sparking in his eyes, instead of confusion. "So is this the Mystery Shack?" _

_"Taunts will get you nowhere. That is too simple of an answer."_

_"What?" Peter laughed. "I'm not taunting you! It's kinda the truth! I don't know what to tell ya."_

_"Him…" The creature seemed to be in an entirely different line of thought now. Its voice became muffled, the edges of the dream growing blurry. "This is still about him. All, always about him. Though you may be a player...he is the one I must..."_

_"Who? You're not making any sense. Wait… do you mean Ned? Or…?"_

_The spider gave no answer; it was in another conversation now, maybe even another place, and Peter wasn't entirely sure he was a part of it anymore, or that he was the crazy one. _

_Peter felt his Spidey-Senses pulling him from the dream, along with someone shaking him. _

_"Peter! …Peter!_ Peter!"

Peter blinked open his eyes to see Wanda's face, her steel eyes wide with worry.

"Peter…Something…" her voice was low and taut, her breath shaky, she kept glancing between him and the cockpit, pushing her hair nervously behind her ear, "something's wrong with the plane."

* * *

Peter sat up, shaking his head as if it would untangle the spider's webs from his mind. "W-What? What are you talking about?"

"I-I don't know—Everything just started shaking and—"

It wasn't a joke; he could feel it—the tremor he had felt when the scene changed in the dream must have been this, here; the whole plane shaking. The luggage rattled as it shifted in its compartments, their leftover snacks and drinks spilled onto the floor. His stomach rose and fell, tipped and turned, as the plane dropped, and tried to right itself in the air. The last time he had been on a plane, every tremor had startled him, and Happy had always assured him it was just turbulence. Now he might have tried to denounce this as harsher-than-normal turbulence, and guessed Wanda probably did at first too, but the worry in Wanda's eyes, along with the hair on his arms standing on end, and the dream he had had before, told him this was not normal. He felt a knot tying itself in his stomach.

"Come on!"

He grabbed her hand and stumbled with her to the front of the plane, trying and failing to ignore the shaking floor, and the amount of times they knocked against chairs, (and each other), in their pursuit.

They held on as best they could to anything solid as the shaking grew worse. The cockpit was quite tiny, two chairs crunched into the area. The view of the world below, trees and fields playing peekaboo behind the clouds, getting closer, took up most of the area—which, while helpful to the (here, nonexistent) pilot, only served to make their fall seem all the more eminent.

This was the kind of circumstance that could make him understand why people feared gravity.

The rest of the area was comprised of levers, buttons, blinking lights of many colors, and screens, splattered around the walls, floors, what you might call the plane's dashboard, and ceilings. Without a manual they could never know which would create what reaction, or how to navigate the skies' invisible paths.

When they tried the radio, no voice came through. Not even dead static.

They scanned the blinking lights, dials, screens, buttons, (and tried to avoid the window view), glancing at each other periodically, as if expecting one of them to suddenly shout, _Ah! Yes! I know how this works!_

"Hey, Friday," Peter called, "c-can you tell us what's going on?"

No response.

"Friday?" he felt his voice trembling too, and all he could think was _I don't have the suit, I don't have the suit, I don't have the suit, please answer, please be there,_ "You there?"

Nothing.

The tremors grew worse. The knot pulled itself tighter, making him feel sick with fear.

How? How could she not be there? Mr. Stark probably hadn't expected this of his own technology, but he would have always made sure Friday was there. She even assured them she would be. Besides that, he would have made sure that any and every safety precaution was followed…right?

Okay, that didn't exactly sound like Mr. Stark.

Still, how could this even happen? What exactly were they dealing with? Could ordinary turbulence, some accident, a malfunction, wipe out Friday?

"We could really use your help right now!" worry was creeping into the edges of his voice.

AFK.

_Or,_ something in the back of his mind asked, _what if we're dealing with a villain? What if this is what Mr. Spider meant by 'Up up and away, when will you ever come down?'_

But he pushed the idea back down. Maybe. Hopefully not. But it didn't matter. Not right now.

"What do you think we should do?" he could tell Wanda was trying not to let her worry reach her voice too.

"Um…Okay, let's…uh—" Peter ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his voice from devolving into whimpers.

There were a number of situations in which his heightened senses were much more of a hindrance than a help—(okay, that was an understatement)—and this was one of them. It was difficult to think at all when every rattle of luggage and metal sounded like snakes in his ears, warning him they were about to strike. Luckily (or unluckily) no alarms were blaring, but his Spidey-Senses were more than happy to provide the constant bark of _Danger! Danger!_ in his ears. The outside sunlight glared at him, paired with the tiny blinking lights, each one a question he couldn't answer, making the environment less than conducive to heavy duty thought. Each tremor grabbed him and shook him, like Flash on a bad day, causing him to lose calm and mental capacity second by second.

He wanted to fight back more than anything, but he had nothing at all to fight with, he didn't understand the rules of the game, nor could he anticipate the enemy's moves. There were so many levers, buttons—too many to count, to decipher, to learn—and no manual, no AI to talk to, nor a person on the radio to guide them. No help, no hope.

But he couldn't break down, couldn't sit back in a quiet moment and think this through, couldn't process, or even wonder. He had to think, had to solve this, to come up with a solution—_have to keep us alive_. He couldn't, wouldn't, be useless without his suit. He refused to be. He promised himself history wasn't repeating. He wouldn't let it be. He was more than his suit—he had proven that much already. He knew he could still be a hero without it.

"Let's try this lever," he pointed to the big, gleaming, silver one in front of them. "it looks important!"

So much for that.

Wanda gave him a _really?_ look. The same one Mr. Stark gave him before, when he said he could be normal.

"Do you have a better idea?!"

He lost his balance on the next tremor, and felt the console dig into his chest when he fell.

The lever was within reach. He glanced at Wanda for approval—who gave a little nod—and tried it.

It wouldn't budge.

Okay…other direction?

Like an obnoxious child, it refused to leave the toy store.

"Let me try!" Wanda called.

He fell back into the pilot's chair in an attempt to give her space.

She put her hands together, red pouring out from them, mist enveloping the lever. She pulled her fingers back as if her hand was tied to it.

The mist dissipated without the lever so much as shivering.

_Nu uh._

She dropped her hands to the side, her eyes wide and fearful when at they met his.

"Has…Has that ever happened before?"

"Not really." She gave a wavering smile, and pushed her hair back behind her ear.

"Okay…n-new plan." He blew out a breath, trying to keep calm.

Except, he didn't have any idea what that new plan could be. Really they needed a new plane. Maybe a new mentor.

Or, you know, a certain suit.

"You see a manual anywhere?" Peter asked.

They had already looked everywhere, but they tried again, looking for a secret panel or compartment that might hold it, knowing full well it would probably be easily accessible if it was here.

"Well it is an auto pilot, I doubt it would need to read the instructions," Wanda pointed out.

_Yeah, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised of Mr. Stark threw it out._

He whistled out a breath. They had to do _something_, something, not nothing, not sitting here—_not useless without the suit, not useless, I'm not just some weak little kid._

He then frantically proceeded to turn, touch, and pull every dial, button, and lever he possibly could. Many wouldn't move, those that would did nothing to help their situation, or else broke off entirely like as if they were glass.

"Okay." He ran his hands over his face, his breath weighing heavier on his chest every second. "OkayOkayOkay. Calm down, Peter, you got this."

"Wait…didn't you stop a plane before? How did you do it then?"

That struck something inside him. _It crashed, Wanda. Didn't he tell you that? I only know how to screw up. Everything I do ends up in flames. Please don't throw that in my face, not now._ He could no longer contain the stress piling up inside him, it now spilled onto his tongue, "Mr. Stark took away my suit, okay?!" he snapped, "I mean, I-I can still do stuff without it! Just—!" he tried to quiet the brew of fear and anger, "Stopping planes is going to be hard one, okay?!"

"Why would he—?" she breathed, then bit her lip, cutting off her words.

"He thought I would be reckless with it!" he answered her half-baked question. "Can you please be quiet for just one second, I need to think!"

She obliged.

"What if…What if, uh…" his voice shook.

How could he? How could he think when he just knew this would end the same way all his other missions did? How could he think at all when he felt like somehow this just had to be all his fault?

He tried to focus his energy on something other rather than himself:

Despite the fact that he didn't have his suit, Wanda's power was readily available. She could still do something… but what? What would be enough to stop a soon-to-be-crashing plane, when neither of them had any experience, idea what any of these buttons did, or even a manual to read? Superpowers didn't quite match inexperience, and misinformation. Well, at least right now they didn't—and this might be the only 'now' that mattered.

"What if you, uh, used your power to—"

_What?_

He snapped his fingers, pointing at her, finally getting an idea, "Can you use your powers on the entire plane?"

"I…can try."

It was a crazy idea, but crazy ideas are how superheroes get by, right?

Using the walls, chairs, and Peter, to keep her balance, she walked out into a more open, middle area of the plane. Peter kept his distance, as she shut her eyes, and held her hands out to the side, red energy flowing from her, diving into the floor, inch by inch enveloping the plane in a red sheen, creating puppet strings to tie it to the sky.

"Yes! Yes!" Peter encouraged.

She cried out in pain, the weight of the machine falling upon her, but she kept going.

Just as as the forcefield was almost finished covering the contraption, and he felt it start to rise back up, the strings broke, and the girl collapsed onto the floor.

Peter ran to catch her.

He was afraid this might happen.

"I'm sorry—" she began.

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" he brushed the hair out of her face, "We'll find something else."

But even as he said it, the creaks and groans of the plane straining to stay afloat grew in intensity. His stomach flipped, the knot caught in his throat, fear gripped at his heart.

What could they do? She couldn't keep the plane from falling, they didn't know how to fly it, or have anything to communicate that they were, in fact, falling, and he didn't have his suit…What choice did they have but to fall?

No. He couldn't think like that. There had to be something. He couldn't give up hope.

Maybe it just had to be even crazier. Maybe they wouldn't fall after all, maybe there was something, some way they hadn't thought of yet. They were awfully close to their destination, maybe they would come to the right place after all, and they would land safely. They had to. This couldn't be it.

Maybe. Or maybe they would fall.

He couldn't think with the creaking grating on his ears, and his blood drumming his own death march beneath the skin.

Shaking, creaking, rattling—_keep breathing._

But that breath was snatched away; the plane finally gave out in its efforts to stay above the waves, and it took a different direction.

A wrong direction. A _down_ direction. A _falling_ direction.

And for one brief second, the thought crossed paths with his mind: _we might die._

But the thought flitted out of his brain as quickly as it entered, or, more accurately, it was stifled when The Scarlet Witch grabbed his shirt, pulling him further down, shouting, "Hold on to me!"

He did, and as he wrapped his arms around her, the crimson mist came over them both, a merciful curtain separating them and disaster. It seemed so thin—like you could brush your hand through it and it would tear—but somehow it kept calamity at bay.

He understood now; she had been hoping to keep them afloat, or else save more, or ideally all, of the plane, (and, after what had happened in Lagos, she was probably afraid her power would be more of a hindrance than a help), but this had always been her last resort.

The crashing came in muffled blips to their scarlet cage. He put his finger on Wanda's chin so she would turn to look at him. She did so, fear lining her irises. He put his hands over her ears, resting his forehead gently on hers.

She didn't need the sound of more tragedy in her life.

They both shut their eyes tight. They didn't want to see. To admit that they had failed.

Though he kept her safer from the noise, he had to listen. He tried and failed to block out the sounds; the curling metal, and bending trees, so close. Even if he had covered his own ears he doubted his super-hearing would have allowed him to block it out.

They could still breathe. And that breathing was amplified by the field, the same single, bated, fearful, forced-calm kind of breath.

If only their thin bubble of safety popped…what would happen? How quickly would they die? Seconds? Minutes? Or would it be hours, and even now, they still had a chance of never being found? Never finding their way out of the wreckage, or back home?

The metal twisted, the engines failed and and fell, flaming to the forest floor. The dirt flared up, and the trees, like spears, jutted into the sides of the machine. Those trees who dared challenge man's invention had their points dulled, scratched, and split by the presence of the unnatural. The forest buckled, but in the same token, technology became putty in the hands of nature. Everything fell apart, and in the end, it all was left in a fiery heap of scraps in the midst of a forest.

But the two of them were safe.

* * *

Loki sighed low, wiping the sweat of his brow, stepping through the curtain, changing his clothes from the all-back suit to something more casual in a flash of gold. _Last tour of the day._

Yet, of course, with a movie-like flair, the real mess was just beginning. He was going to savor every second before the pests arrived. Maybe finally settle down with that book, drink some tea to calm down, reset his system before he had to deal with—

"Hey, catch!"

Loki caught the snow globe Michelle threw at him.

"Noice. This guy," she pointed her thumb at the person before her, at the front counter, "wants to know if the sticker on this means it's 30% off."

Loki barely glanced the sticker before leaning on the desk and saying through the side of his mouth. "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry sir," Michelle responded, "I'm afraid I can't give you a discount. But may I interest you in a free jar of one-hundred-percent, one-of-a-kind Gravity Falls dirt?"

She pulled a perfectly worthless jar of dirt out from behind beneath the counter, like it was on the secret menu, and held it up.

He accepted it from her and held it up to the light, as if admiring it, or trying to discern its authenticity.

"Nice." Loki whispered back.

Only a few stragglers from his last tour were left in the gift shop, and they would be gone soon.

A few moments passed before Ned joined them, lowering his phone, something akin to worry creasing his features.

"Something wrong, Mr. Leeds?"

"Peter isn't picking up."

Loki raised an eyebrow, and Michelle lifted her gaze.

"Your meaning?" Loki asked, barely concerned.

"They should have been here half an hour ago."

"Their flight was probably just delayed, dude." Michelle offered calmly.

"You're right. I'm probably worried about nothing." Ned tried to shrug it off.

Though, clearly, as time continued on—the last customers of the day exited the shop, closing time came and passed—worry was not absent from his thoughts. Loki gave them a few last minute tasks to prepare for their friends' arrival, though they had finished most of it earlier that morning. Later he found him pacing in the quiet gift shop, periodically checking his phone to make sure he hadn't missed his friend's call—as if he his constant vigilance warranted any possibility of that.

It appeared Loki might have to abandon his moment of silence.

Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

"Miss Jones," he found her watching TV in the living room, snacking from a bag of chips. "Your friend is looking rather…pathetic."

She smirked, not looking up at him. "Yeah, he always looks like that."

He crossed his arms.

She looked up to see he was being serious. "Come on, he's just worried about Peter."

"See to him, will you?"

Michelle lifted her hand. "Why don't you do it?"

He started tapping his foot on the ground. "Because I have some rather important reading to do."

"Really? How important? Are we talkin' The History of Farting, or War and Peace?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. This summer was not going to be an easy one.

"Just do as I ask."

She shrugged, grabbing her chips and roaming over to her friend.

It seemed his reading plans were destined to fail, however, as he was interrupted yet again by the ringing of the the Mystery Shack phone. He groaned, leaning over the yellow armchair to pick it up.

"Hello, Mystery Shack?" he sat on the arm of the chair, "Mr. Mystery speaking."

The person on the other end snorted. "Mr. Mystery, nice one."

"I'll have you know—!"

He cut himself off, eyes wide, realizing he recognized that voice.

"Darcy?" he tried to sound unaffected.

"The one and only. You wouldn't happen to have ordered two marginally distressed teenagers, would you?"

He sat on the arm of the recliner. "Don't tell me something happened during shipping."

"Kind of, yeah. Let's just say autopilot, plus Gravity Falls weirdness, equals …not a good time." There was a pause. "They're fine—Not that you asked."

"Where are they now?"

"They're in the farmhouse…You know, the one with the with the mailbox that looks like an alien cow? We're sitting here drinking tea. I promise they're eating healthy—hey put down that cookie! Can you come pick them up? Or do I need to entertain them for an extended period of time? I do have an Ipod here, and some old newspapers, but don't think that's nearly enough to keep them occupied." He heard her cracking her knuckles. "But I think I can manage."

"While that would be quite enjoyable to see, it won't be necessary."

He walked into the atrium to grab his keys, forgetting the phone was a landline…which, when he reached the end of the cord, ended up pulling him to the ground. He stood back up with dignity, tossing his hair out of his face, (he was glad Ned and Michelle hadn't seen him, and that he wouldn't have to use a certain memory gun on his employees), and finished,

"I'm coming."

"Mr. Mystery to the rescue, huh?"

He tried not to smirk. "The one and only."

"Oh, and to be clear, what's really going to be fun to see, is _you_ trying to entertain them, not me."

He glared at the phone before hanging up.

When he got off the phone and walked into the gift shop, he found the other two teens staring at him expectedly from across the room.

Loki cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.

"It appears your friend Mr. Stark made the mistake of trusting your friends lives to his autopilot."

Ned had been snacking on Michelle's chips—(he had a tendency to do that when he was nervous)—and as his mouth dropped open in shock, the chip he was holding fluttering sadly to the ground.

"And…as often happens with the machinations of mortals"—(he tried not to smirk at his turn of phrase, then felt something in him stir)—"something…"

He didn't intend it, expect it, or want it, but at the mention of technology, and of malfunction, for a brief moment—

_"Uhh…what about family?" _

_"That too."_

—he didn't see the two of them before him, their worried faces.

Instead, a bright blue glow saturated the world, a low hum filled his ears, he felt a burning sensation on his shoulder, and heard a single voice, a voice he hadn't heard in years, shouting his name, and a command, that he had then failed to follow:

_"LOKI! DO SOMETHING!"_

He shut his eyes tight, and swallowed the memory, trying to focus on the situation before him.

This was not that; these two were not him. They were mortals, who could never understand, and though the scene still haunted him more often than he would like, it was not happening now.

"Something went wrong."


End file.
